


Unsustainable Self-Destruction

by rayenbow



Category: Justified
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 19:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3179894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayenbow/pseuds/rayenbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim's self-destructive and Darryl Crowe is a handy weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsustainable Self-Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this was easier to write than it should've been for me.
> 
> Also, just a warning, this is completely un-beta'd. I kicked it out and tossed it up.

Tim knew it was a bad idea when he walked into the bar. If he were a smarter man, he would’ve turned around and chosen a different bar, any other bar. But he wasn’t a smarter man, so he didn’t. He knew it was a bad idea when he took the spot at the bar next to Darryl Crowe Jr. He knew it was a bad idea when he gave Darryl that grin, not the genuine one with soft edges, but the sharp one he brought back from Iraq, jagged and daring and the beginning of every bad decision he’d ever made. He knew it was a bad idea when he bought one, two, three, four, five rounds of tequila for the both of them. Tequila made clothes fall off; it made Tim a fightin’ man. 

He absolutely knew it was an awful, terrible idea when he started provoking Darryl. It was the sort of thing Raylan did to fugitives, taunting a rise out of them, begging for a reason to draw on them. It was the same for Tim, except he was begging for the taste of blood in his mouth.

He got what he wanted with a sliding, alcohol-infused insult aimed at one of the dead Crowes. The last words were barely out of his mouth before an elbow slammed into his jaw. It was all he needed for a slippery claim at self-defence, a narrow way to avoid being suspended. At least he could say he tried. He grinned around a split lip and the taste of copper when he hit back.

They took it out back when the bartender came up with a sawed-off. Tim didn’t draw on Darryl and Darryl didn’t draw on him, like some sort of mutually agreed upon tequila pact. It was all cheap throat shots and pressure points and hard, hard hits to the gut. Darryl was bigger, more than half a foot taller than Tim was. He used brute force to knock Tim’s breath away and split the skin at his cheekbones. Tim was faster, though, and military trained, and he could do the same with a few well-placed hits.

Maybe Darryl wrestled gators back in Florida, or maybe Tim had underestimated him, or maybe he’d had a little too much tequila and it just wasn’t his night. At any rate, just two knocks and Darryl had him against the wall by the throat. The bricks were damp and cold against his his back, his knuckles split and aching. A few ribs felt cracked and blood was trying to drip into his eye from a cut on his forehead. He gave Darryl a shameless, red-tinged grin.

“I know I ain’t the only one gettin’ off on this,” Tim managed. His voice sounded gasping and strained. He was going to have bruises on his throat in the morning. He was going to get off pressing on them and feeling them ache in the future. “I can feel your cock pressin’ above my hip.”

If Tim’s own hard on wasn’t pressed against Darryl’s thigh, he figured this would’ve gone different. As it was, Darryl growled at him to fuck off and forced a knee between Tim’s, pressing and grinding against him. Tim groaned brokenly, head tilting back against the wall when it left him light-headed. Both hands were wrapped around Darryl’s wrist and Tim honestly didn’t know if it was to keep him there or keep him from choking him out completely.

They rutted against each other like that, Tim getting off on the blood in his mouth and the fingers pressed into his neck and the soreness in his ribs and Darryl’s weight against him. He stifled his moans by biting his bottom lip. It split open again, drops of blood sliding down his chin. His hips bucked and he came first, groaning despite himself, despite the fact that the edges of his vision were darkening with the threat of unconsciousness. It didn’t take long for Darryl to come either, much quieter but with more force.

All at once, the hand around his throat disappeared, and the sudden oxygen was dizzying. Tim slid down the wall, knees too shaky to support his weight, and he pulled in deep, steadying breaths. He spit onto the ground, wiped his hand over his face. It came back smeared with red. He lifted his gaze when he heard the door open. It was Darryl, disappearing back inside, not even glancing back.

Tim grinned his sharp grin again. Sitting in the back alley, he felt sated and satisfied, his need for self-destruction a little quieter than before.


End file.
